


Drowning on Dry Land

by Triangulum



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Creature Stiles Stilinski, Drowning, Killer Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Pre-Slash, Steter Network Monthly Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-26
Updated: 2017-09-26
Packaged: 2019-01-05 21:30:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12197784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Triangulum/pseuds/Triangulum
Summary: At first, Peter thinks he's the only one that notices the rash of bizarre drownings, which in itself is strange.A man who recently got off on a charge of assaulting his wife, even though everyone knew he was guilty, drowns in his sink. A murderer that had been let out on good behavior and due to prison overcrowding ends up drowned in a puddle outside a bar. A woman who was abusing her children is found in her shower, lungs full of water.Stiles usually would pick up a pattern like this, so when he says nothing, Peter's immediately suspicious.





	Drowning on Dry Land

**Author's Note:**

> So I already did the monthly prompt for water, but I'm doing another one anyway. Not gonna lie, I'm not huge on it and might take it down.

At first, Peter thinks he's the only one that notices the rash of bizarre drownings, which in itself is strange. 

A man who recently got off on a charge of assaulting his wife, even though everyone knew he was guilty, drowns in his sink. A murderer that had been let out on good behavior and due to prison overcrowding ends up drowned in a puddle outside a bar. The police had assumed he had been drunk and passed out, but it turns out he was completely sober. A woman who was abusing her children is found in her shower, lungs full of water. 

Stiles usually would pick up a pattern like this, so when he says nothing, Peter's immediately suspicious. 

The only reason the pack notices at all, and it certainly isn't Peter who tells them, is because a malevolent coven of witches that had been targeting Beacon Hills is found drowned in a shallow stream in the preserve. The sheriff calls to tell Stiles about joggers finding their bodies while Stiles is at the loft, and Scott overhears the conversation. Otherwise, Peter is confident Stiles never would have told him.

"Can your dad delay the cops getting there?" Scott asks.

"Why?" Stiles asks.

"We need to get there first!" Scott says.

"Why?" Stiles asks. "Witches aren't biologically different than humans, their autopsies won't reveal the supernatural or anything."

"Not that! We have to check out the stream and see what killed them!" Scott says.

"Nothing killed them," Stiles says. "My dad said they drowned."

"What about the other drownings your dad mentioned?" Scott asks.

"It's just a coincidence, dude," Stiles says.

"You're the one that always says once is a incident, twice is coincidence, three times is a pattern! Well we have four now," Scott says.

"It just doesn't seem supernatural, Scotty," Stiles says.

Peter, studying Stiles, says, "I have to agree with Stiles. There's no evidence that anything supernatural is going on. Shouldn't you be focused on graduating anyway?"

Scott glares at them and turns to Derek, planning on how they can get into the preserve and see where the witches' bodies were found. 

Stiles shrugs when Scott asks him to call the sheriff, saying, "You have my dad's number. I'm not going to call and bug him about something that isn't supernatural," and refuses to go with Scott out to the preserve.

"We need your help!" Scott says.

"Scott, I can only show up at my dad's crime scenes so many times before it gets too suspicious. I'm not going to jeopardize his job again for something is. Not. Supernatural," Stiles says. "I'm going to save up my crime scene visits for things that are actually dangerous, not witches who can't swim."

Peter snorts, which irritates Scott even more. He glares at both of them when he and Derek leave the loft, slamming the door behind him. Stiles rolls his eyes and keeps his attention on his economics homework. Peter studies him over the top of the novel he's ready, well aware that Stiles knows he's being watched.

"Yes?" Stiles finally asks, looking up from his laptop.

"What?" Peter asks innocently.

"Don't 'what' me," Stiles says. "Either tell me what you want, or stop staring."

"I was just thinking how interesting it is that you've learned to lie to werewolves so well," Peter says.

Stiles narrows his eyes slightly. "I don't know what you're talking about," Stiles says.

"Mm, another lie," Peter says. "You've got control of the heartbeat down well, there's just a tiny stutter after you've finished whatever lie you're selling. I doubt the others would notice, if it's any consolation."

Stiles doesn't say anything, just grits his teeth together. Peter grins and stands in one fluid motion, circling where Stiles is sitting in the oversized arm chair.

"What's more interesting is how your scent has changed lately," Peter says. Stiles stills. "It's richer. Deeper. Like the smell of ozone after a thunderstorm. Even more interesting that it seems to have changed, if my memory serves me, right after that first man drowned in his sink while doing dishes."

Stiles is glaring, eyes watching Peter carefully as he circles ever closer, stopping just in front of Stiles with a grin. 

"Peter," Stiles warns.

"Tell me, Stiles. What exactly are you?" Peter asks. It's a bit of a shot in the dark. He doesn't know anything, not for sure, but he's hoping that pushing Stiles will force the boy to make a mistake. He's right.

Stiles' eyes turn blue. Not the sharp, electric blue of Peter's wolf irises. Stiles' whole eyes, sclera, pupil, everything, turn a deep, rich blue that Peter associates with the deepest of oceans. Peter's breath catches and he can't help but reach out, like he wants to touch Stiles' face and tilt it towards him, giving him a better look. Stiles catches his hand before it can get close though, and lets out a low growl that Peter's never heard. It makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

"Not here," Stiles hisses.

"Where?" Peter asks. He doesn't care that he sounds breathless, he's _curious_ , and there are so very few things that make Peter curious nowadays.

"Your place," Stiles says, eyes fading back to brown. He says it almost triumphantly, like he thinks Peter will drop it because he doesn't want someone else in his home. A miscalculation on Stiles' part.

"Fine," Peter says, standing. "Are we taking your car or mine?"

Stiles glares at him before huffing.

"I'll follow you in my jeep. I don't want to be stuck in a car with you if you decide to kabob me," Stiles says.

"I wouldn't," Peter says. "You're the only one in this walking disaster we call a pack that's worth talking to."

"Whatever," Stiles says, standing and gathering his things. "You better have food, I need lunch."

Peter tries to gather his thoughts as he leads Stiles to his penthouse apartment. He can't think of any creature off the top of his head that has completely blue eyes, especially eyes like Stiles', and have his scent. The closest he can think of is a demigod he met in Thailand that controlled storms, but it still doesn't fit.

Peter checks the review mirror often, positive that at some point Stiles is going to pull away and speed somewhere else in an attempt to get away from Peter. But no, he follows Peter's Mercedes, though he looks irritated about it. He can be as irritated as he wants, as long as Peter finds out what he is.

Stiles hasn't been in Peter's apartment before and his eyes flicker in every direction, taking in all that he can. Peter lets him, walking past to see what he has in the fridge.

"I have sandwich food, potato salad, or we can order out," Peter says.

"Sandwiches are fine," Stiles says from where he's standing by Peter's bookcase. Peter would tell him to be careful, that those books are rare, but out of anyone in the pack, Stiles is the only other one that would know that.

Peter's not an idiot, he's well aware that Stiles used this moment to get inside Peter's apartment. He's well aware of Stiles snooping through the living room and that's fine. Anything that's truly valuable he doesn't keep at his apartment anyway. Even if he did, it's the price he'll happily pay to learn what exactly Stiles is.

"No mayo, easy mustard?" Peter says.

"I...yeah," Stiles says, giving up his perusal to sit on a bar stool across the kitchen island from where Peter is putting together lunch. Peter pushes a plate with a sandwich and scoop of potato salad across the across the counter to Stiles, who immediately takes a bite. 

Peter watches Stiles eat patiently. Stiles eats slowly, dragging out the silence between them as if he can put off Peter's questions. Peter just sits back and watches until Stiles eats the last bite of his crust and leans back in his seat with a sigh.

"I believe I fulfilled my half of the deal," Peter says. "You've been properly fed."

"What, no dessert?" Stiles asks.

"Cute," Peter says. 

Stiles sighs. "Fine," he says. "Water demon."

"Water demon," Peter repeats, looking unimpressed.

"I'm actually serious, that's the closest interpretation I can get from Polish to English," Stiles says. "It's a genetic thing that pops up when you've hit 'maturity' or whatever."

"The sheriff of Beacon Hills is a 'water demon'?" Peter asks.

"No, oh my god, could you imagine?" Stiles says with a snort. "No, genetic from my mom's side. She died before she could go into too much detail. I was young when she was sick and even when she tried, her cognitive functions weren't all there, you know? So even though I think she was trying to explain things, it's hard to sort out what's real versus what tricks her mind was playing on her."

"So what exactly does being a water demon mean?" Peter asks.

"I mean, I'm not 100% one, just some ancestor up the line got it on with a water demon and passed on the genes, so from what I can tell it means I'm not bound to any body of water or anything, but can still do some cool shit," Stiles says.

"Like drown people in mysterious ways?" Peter asks. Stiles is silent. "Mmhmm."

"The first time was an accident," Stiles says. "That guy, Henderson, when he was released he went back home where he lived with the wife he'd beaten. They happened to be a few houses down from Scott. I just got nosy and when I saw him through the window...I just got so fucking pissed. Before I knew it, he was gasping and clutching at his throat, water pouring out his nose. He fell face-first into the sink and that was that..."

"You didn't even have to touch him," Peter says, awed.

"Nope," Stiles says. "Barely had to see him."

"You said the first was an accident..." Peter says slowly.

"Yeah, I did," Stiles says. "I didn't say shit about the rest."

"Show me," Peter says. Stiles raises an eyebrow, making Peter roll his eyes. "Not on _me_. But come now, we both know you aren't done."

Stiles looks at Peter critically, his lips pursed and Peter knows he's right. These were warm ups. The witches, while a nuisance, probably could have been dealt with by the pack. No, Stiles had wanted to test his ability. He'd wanted to make sure he could deal with multiple people at once.

"There's a pack on the outskirts of LA right now," Stiles says finally. "They're taking a leaf out of Deucalion's book and trying to go all alpha pack. I'm going to stop them before they make it up here."

"Does Scott know?" Peter asks.

"No," Stiles says with an eye roll. "He'd want to _talk it out_ or whatever."

"True," Peter says. "I'm going with you."

Stiles looks at him sharply.

"I'm not letting you kill an alpha," Stiles says.

"While I admit, the thought crossed my mind, that's not why," Peter says. 

"Yeah, right," Stiles.

"I'm serious. As of right now, Scott McCall, as inept as he is, holds my family's territory. Taking it away would mean a fight that I can't win," Peter says. "Even if I had the alpha power behind me, I would still have to go through Scott and the rest of the pack. And you."

"You're damn right," Stiles mutters.

"No, for now I am...content...where I am," Peter says. 

"Then why do you feel like traipsing down to Los Angeles with me?" Stiles asks.

Peter grins, mouth full of fang.

"Oh, sweetheart," he purrs. "I want to watch."

"Of course you get your voyeuristic jollies off on watching murder," Stiles grumbles, shaking his head. "Fine. You can come. You stay out of the way, though."

"What if you're in trouble?" Peter asks.

"Oh my god you're impossible. Fine, you stay out of the way unless I'm in mortal danger, happy?"

"Thrilled," Peter says. "When do we go?"

"Saturday," Stiles says. "I have an economics test Friday."

"Scheduling murder around high school, how inconvenient," Peter says.

"I could just leave you behind if that's too low brow for you," Stiles says.

"Not at all, it's just cute," Peter says.

"Sure," Stiles says. 

Stiles lets Peter drive them down to LA late on Saturday night, preferring to not risk his jeep breaking down on the way. He lounges in the front seat, calling the water from his water bottle. The water rests in the air in front of him, twisting and contorting into whatever shape Stiles chooses. Peter has to constantly remind himself to keep his eyes on the road, not on what Stiles is doing.

"Does your dad know?" Peter asks.

Stiles pauses, the water collected in an orb in front of him.

"No," Stiles says.

"Are you going to tell him?" Peter asks.

"I don't know," Stiles says with a shrug. He manipulates the water back in the water bottle and caps it.

"I would, if I were you," Peter says. "You saw how messy things were when he and Melissa didn't know about their kids being involved in the supernatural."

"This is different," Stiles says.

"How?"

"A. Because the word 'demon' is involved. B. Because it means my mom kept this huge secret from her for their entire marriage," Stiles says. "I don't want to drop a bombshell about her years after she's been dead and break his heart all over again."

Peter hums, but doesn't say anything to that.

"For that," Peter says, nodding to were Stiles is twirling the water bottle in his hands. "Do you have to be near water to manipulate it, or can you create it?"

"I can't...create it, exactly," Stiles says. "Okay, this is going to sound stupid, but have you seen the Incredibles?"

"Yes..." Peter says slowly.

"It's kind of like Frozone. I can pull to moisture from the air and...enhance it, I guess," Stiles says. "Add to it."

Peter tries to swallow down his hunger. That means Stiles is powerful, incredibly powerful. Especially for only really having control of this for a few months. Peter pushes down his desire and keeps driving.

The wannabe alpha pack isn't exactly living the Los Angeles high life. Stiles directs Peter to a rather dodgy part of town. He hates to leave his car in a neighborhood like this. He growls and flashes fang at a guy sitting on the sidewalk, eyeing the Mercedes as Peter steps out of it. The guy's eyes widen.

"Anything happens to that car and I'm taking it out of your flesh," Peter says. The guy nods rapidly.

"Drama queen," Stiles mutters. "Come on."

The house they end up at reeks of decay and Peter can smell heavy drug use even from outside. He looks at Stiles, unimpressed.

"This is it?"

"I didn't pick their den. Is anyone home?" Stiles asks.

Peter listens, and nods. "Six heartbeats, all asleep."

"Good," Stiles says. "Come on."

Stiles picks the lock, something Peter hadn't known he knows how to do, but probably should have guessed, and they slip inside. The sleeping heartbeats stay steady. Peter doesn't say anything, just watches. Stiles walks to the kitchen and turns on the tap, the water running loudly. A few of the heartbeats quicken as they start to wake. Their growls echo through the small house as they realize someone else is there.

"Stiles," Peter warns.

"I know," Stiles says, not bothering to lower his voice. 

Stiles waves his hands, gathering the water pouring from the faucet into a swirling sphere in front of him, waiting. The first of the pack appears in the doorway, eyes red and claws out. Before he can so much as lunge, Stiles is throwing his hands forward. The water follows his movement and hits the alpha, forcing its way down his throat and his nostrils. The alpha gags, dropping to the ground and coughing, trying desperately to rid his lungs of water, but he can't.

The rest of the pack flies in quickly, a little too quickly for Stiles. Peter grabs the first one by the throat, throwing him back into the others. He keeps his word, not killing him and taking the alpha power. Stiles wraps the water around them, forcing it in through their mouths and noses. Peter watches as Stiles stares impassively, standing over the bodies of the six writhing, drowning werewolves. It's an ugly sight, but Stiles glowing with his power is beautiful. When the last wolf goes still, Stiles glances at Peter. He nods, confirming that all their hearts are stopped. 

"Let's go," Stiles says.

Peter follows him out of the house. He glances around, making sure no one sees them leave the house, but this time of night, no one is interested in what their neighbors are doing. Peter's pleased to see that his car is still intact, the guy sitting on the curb looking relieved when Peter reappears. 

"Waffles," Peter says as he pulls away from the curb.

"What?" Stiles asks.

"We need waffles," Peter says.

"...You just watched me murder six people, and you want breakfast?" Stiles asks.

"It's two in the morning, waffles are perfect late night/early morning food," Peter says.

"There's something wrong with you," Stiles says. "But sure. Waffles with strawberries sound good."

They go to a nicer area for food, someplace Peter isn't afraid to park his car. Stiles orders a Belgian waffle piled high with strawberries and whip cream and Peter gets a simple egg white omelet. Stiles watches Peter suspiciously as they eat, which Peter thinks is a bit unfair for someone who's buying him breakfast. 

"This isn't a date, you know," Stiles says, mouth full.

"Pardon?" Peter asks. "It was hard to understand you through the half-chewed food."

Stiles swallows over exaggeratedly and says, "This isn't a date. Late night breakfast food after a little light murder isn't a date."

"It could be," Peter says. "I usually prefer something a little classier when I wine and dine someone, but if you'd rather have this..."

"I didn't say I _wanted_ it to be a date!" Stiles says. "I said it isn't one!"

"You're the one that brought it up, I was just eating my omelet," Peter says. 

Stiles grits his teeth and glares, stabbing at his waffle. They eat in silence for a while, Peter watching in amusement as Stiles looks up at him every few minutes, either to glare, grimace, or regard him thoughtfully. Peter would have emotional whiplash if it were him, but Stiles is used to that apparently. 

Stiles mumbles his thanks when Peter pays, growing more tired quickly. Peter doesn't blame him, it probably takes a lot of energy to magically drown six werewolves. That's the only reason Peter doesn't continue to prod at him as they drive back to Beacon Hills. It's also why he's surprised when Stiles breaks the silence.

"So what would you do?" Stiles asks. "On an actual date?"

"That depends on who it was for," Peter says. "For you? There's an occult shop an hour or so outside of Beacon Hills I think you'd enjoy. They may have something about Polish water demons as well. After, probably a restaurant that has cloth napkins and food that doesn't come in a wrapper and leave grease stains. A walk downtown when we're done eating."

"Oh," Stiles says. He fiddles with the strings of his hoodie and Peter thinks it's incredible that two hours ago he was taking out six werewolves without blinking, but he's nervously fiddling now talking about a hypothetical date. "I guess that wouldn't be awful. You know, if that happened."

"We'll talk about it when you sleep off the murder energy crash," Peter says.

"I'm not crashing, this is an appropriate amount of tired to be at 4:00 a.m.," Stiles says.

"Uh huh," Peter says. "Go to sleep."

Miracle of miracles, Stiles does, a sure sign that he's exhausted that he doesn't even argue. He grumbles a bit about not being told what to do, but he leans his head back onto the car seat and in a few minutes is dozing lightly. 

That's fine with Peter, he has a date to plan. It would disturb him that seeing someone kill inspires him to ask them out, but, well, Peter's never really been normal in that sense anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me on [ tumblr ](http://www.hotpinklizard.tumblr.com).


End file.
